


Student Identification

by argentum_ls (LadySilver)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Levels of Research, College, Ficinabox, Flirting, Gen, Gift Fic, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, References to Sex, Scott Character Study, Toxic Masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilver/pseuds/argentum_ls
Summary: Moving in week at UC-Davis presents Scott with the kinds of challenges that graduating from (and surviving) Beacon Hills High School did not prepare him for. Then Isaac calls with news of his own.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall
Comments: 24
Kudos: 41
Collections: Fic In A Box





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [static_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/gifts).



> The UC-Davis in this story likely has very little similarity to the real school. Its depiction is based mostly on my experiences with the universities I've attended and a couple orientation videos. Any place I got it wrong, please consider it the Teen Wolf version of California, which was mostly filmed in Georgia anyway.
> 
> Thanks to idelthoughts for the support, encouragement, and beta read of this story, despite having no knowledge of the fandom. I'm sorry I made you jealous by approaching other beta readers.
> 
> Happy ficinabox, static_abyss! I hope you enjoy.

It started to sink in before the end of his first week in the dorm: Scott was packless.

Not in a technical sense, but in a physical one. Despite all their conversations and maps and contingency-covering plans, when the time came for everyone to pick a place to go, they scattered. Stiles returned to Quantico, Lydia went to MIT. Liam, Mason, and Corey had to stay in Beacon Hills one more year, and Malia had purchased a camper on the cheap and set off to anywhere that wasn’t.

And that left Scott at UC-Davis, by himself. His parents—in a surprising act of working together, and with only minimal bickering—had helped him move into the Freshman dorm the previous day. They’d gone out to dinner afterward, pride beaming from both his parents’ faces. None of them could quite believe that this was really happening, that somehow, Scott was now a college boy.

“I’m gonna be fine,” Scott assured his mom, as he walked her back to her car. The sun hung low in the sky, reds and yellows beginning to appear on the horizon as sunset inched closer. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Melissa touched his face, resting her hand on his chin like when he was a little boy. “I’m always going to worry about you,” she answered. Tears glimmered in her brown eyes, and she blinked them back. “But I know you’ve already survived much, much harder challenges. Compared to the dead pool and the Dread Doctors and the Ghost Riders--” Her breath hitched as she laid out some of the forces that had nearly killed Scott — and the one that _had_ killed him — and a tear slid down her cheek— “Just promise me that you’ll take care of yourself. You’ve always been better at looking out for others than for yourself. Promise me. Eat healthy, get enough sleep, you know the drill.”

“Three square and eight hours a night,” Scott agreed, even though they both knew the reputation for college students not being able to achieve either. They’d been thoroughly informed of the dangers during orientation.

“And call us if you need anything. _Anything_. Between me, Chris, and your father, I think we can cover any emergency from band aids to ammo to extradition.”

Scott had smiled and promised again that he could take care of himself. How hard could it be? He knew how to cook, how to launder his own clothes, how to not overdraw his checking account. In the years since his mom kicked his dad out, he’d learned and practiced all the basic skills. All he had to do now was study hard and make a good impression with the professors he’d need for recommendation letters.

That night, he fell asleep in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, thrumming with excitement at the adventure that would be unfolding over the next four years. New friends, new teachers, new experiences. And, with any luck, all the horrible supernatural threats would stay far away.

By the next night, the sounds of doors slamming and boys yelling throughout the residence hall started to grate. Sweat and body odor and a hundred different deodorants, body sprays, and colognes coalesced in a suffocating miasma. Scott pushed the window nearest his bed open, only to trade a breath of fresher air for an influx of more noise from across the quad. Music pounded from dorm rooms in a cacophony of styles, while down in the quad itself people bustled in and out of the tent that had been set up to host the official back to school events that would start the next day.

A part of Scott wanted to go check out who was down there, see what was going on. Another part recognized that this was the first major social event he’d ever been to without Stiles to help break the ice. He didn’t know if he was ready for that.

“Hey,” he said, turning to his roommate, who was sprawled across his bed. “It looks like someone’s giving away pizza down there. You wanna go grab a slice with me?”

Aaron was a large guy, and solid, with close set eyes, sun-darkened skin, and brown hair he hid under a constant baseball cap. During the floor meeting, he’d proudly announced as his interesting fact that he’d led his team last season to “a 10 and 0! Suck it!” He seemed to assume that everyone knew what sport he played, and no one bothered to ask him to elaborate. Now he had on shorts and a t-shirt with a giant red question mark across his chest, and in his hand he held a beer. Not the first of the night. “Nah, dude. Maybe some other time. I gotta meet up with some friends in a few.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Feels like half the kids from my school came here, including my girlfriend. Soon as she texts me about where to go, I’m outta here.” He glanced impatiently at his phone, then took another sip of his beer. Next to him on the bed was a backpack that sagged with the weight of the beer cans still inside it. He’d packed the bag hours before, then had slowly been unpacking it as the evening advanced.

“Oh,” Scott said. It was hard not to feel disappointed, even though he’d barely met the guy 72 hours before and had no claims to his time.

He’d harbored hopes about becoming friends with his roommate, of course. Everyone did. That was part of the excitement of going to college: the stories he’d gain. His own parents talked about the 4 am fire alarm where they met, huddled outside in a chilly night with nothing on except the towels they’d been able to grab; the concerts they’d sacrificed their grocery budget to attend, and the tricks they’d played to sneak into the cafeteria afterward because music doesn’t feed the stomach; the Spring Break road trips to Vegas and Mexico that they both refused to supply further details about. 

Scott and Aaron had exchanged a few texts over the summer, mostly to negotiate whether they wanted to loft the beds in their room or not (they decided against: Aaron claimed he was too big for a top bunk and Scott didn’t like the feeling top bunks gave him of being trapped), and who was going to claim which side of the room (Aaron didn’t care). Aaron had struck Scott as nice enough, but disengaged. He didn’t have a major, didn’t know his class schedule, and had a hard time remembering Scott’s name. So far, that had been the upside of their relationship.

“Hey, you wanna come? We’re gonna get _bombed_.” Aaron grinned broadly at that, as if he’d just given the right answer to a trick question in class. “Can’t be a better way to kick off the semester, right?”

Scott shook his head. The last time he’d tried to get drunk was with Stiles, after Scott’s first break up with Allison. He recalled Stiles getting loopier and louder with each swallow, his already tenuous brain-mouth filter disappearing, while Scott stayed painfully sober. Hardly the first downside to his newly acquired werewolf abilities, just one more kick to an already broken-hearted guy. “No, thanks. I … don’t really drink.”

“You’re not one of those straight-edge kids, are ya? You’re not gonna preach at me all the time about the dangers of alcohol?” He squinted at Scott, sizing him up. “It’s like dealing with _vegans_.”

Even if they’d hit it off right away, Scott had had no intention of telling Aaron about werewolves — much less all the other monsters and supernatural beings that inhabited the world. Aaron was from Davis; as far as Scott knew, the strangest thing Aaron had ever experienced was girls who turned him down when he asked them out. So there was no point in trying to explain that because Scott couldn’t get drunk anymore, he didn’t want to waste any of his already limited funds on beer.

“Nah.” Scott waved the concern away, and swallowed down the fear that he’d someday hear the same fury on the word ‘werewolf’ that Aaron had used on ‘vegan.’ With effort, he kept his response light. “And I’m not a vegan either. I can never pass up a good hamburger.” Because being a werewolf also meant that he couldn’t go very long without eating meat. “It’s, you know, school. Scholarships. Gotta keep my grades up.”

Aaron seemed to relax a little, but before he could comment further, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. “That’s my signal.” He hopped off the bed and swung the backpack onto his shoulder with a grunt. Every move he made had a soundtrack of grunts and groans that accompanied it, like his joints needed external coaxing to bend. “Speaking of signals … sock on the door, am I right? Gotta set those kinds of ground rules right away.”

“Sock on the door?” Scott repeated slowly, the collection of words not forming a coherent unit of sense.

“It’s a classic for a reason. You won’t need it tonight, though. Don’t expect me back any time soon. Kayla’s roommate isn’t gonna show up until Sunday, and this guy—” He thumped himself hard on the chest— “is no fool.” Aaron slammed the door behind him as left, rattling the empty cans on his bed.

“Oooh, sock on the door,” Scott spoke to the empty room, Aaron’s words finally clicking. The signal was a well-understood way to indicate that the person inside had _company_. Not that Scott had any company to bring over. Or that he was keen on the idea of everyone on the hall floor knowing if he did. He wasn’t a prude, and he wasn’t a virgin. He hoped some of the memories he made in college would be ones he refused to tell his own kids. “What’s wrong with texting?” he asked the empty room.

Then the rest of what Aaron said started to sink in, and Scott realized he was going to be alone through the weekend. He sat down heavily on his bed, the shouts and cheers from the kids outside submerging him, pulling him down. Maybe he should have taken up Aaron’s offer. At least he’d have met some people — albeit, people he probably wouldn’t have much in common with, if they were friends of Aaron’s. Not that he had a lot in common with most people anymore. He’d hoped that living in the dorms, far away from Beacon Hills, would give him that kick of normalcy. He wanted to be able to talk about lacrosse, and popular TV shows, and the latest video game without also trying to solve the mystery of who was out to kill him or his friends this time.

He didn’t expect the first college test he skipped to be on socialization. 

Sliding back so that his head rested against the wall, he recognized that he also felt some relief. He ran a hand across his sheets, smoothing out a wrinkle in the cotton, and considered the sturdiness of the thick wooden posts that supported the bed. He’d have the weekend alone, and he hadn’t had to ask or bribe to get it. The downside of roommates is they got to see your life up close and uncensored, which always ran the risk of becoming an issue when a guy happened to be a werewolf going through his first full moon away from home.

Lydia had set up a group chat for everyone before she left. Scott opened the app and scrolled quickly through the messages everyone had sent affirming their safe arrival at their destinations. If he didn’t have people on this end to hang out with, at least he still had his high school friends.

“Hey,” he typed. “What’s everyone up to?”

Every person in this chat was still part of his pack, yet without them nearby he felt diminished, weakened. In a desperate, aching way, he missed them. He anchored himself and no longer worried about losing control and shifting accidentally. Except, maybe without them, he wouldn’t be enough. Maybe, he wouldn’t have the strength to resist.

No one’s name lit up with the indication of them being online. Scott waited, phone cradled in his hand, watching the time stamp on his message grow older and older.

It was only the third day, and already Scott questioned whether college was the right choice for him.

~~~

The ringing of an incoming video chat awakened Scott. Groaning, he rolled himself to a sitting position before swiping to answer. His mouth and eyes felt gritty from the dry air, and morning sun poured through the window brighter than his eyes could immediately adjust to; he scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned again. In the unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar room, he’d slept worse than he could remember in a long time.

“Scott?” a familiar voice asked.

Scott blinked and the image on the screen resolved to a face he hadn’t seen in years. “Isaac?” A second later, adrenaline surged through Scott and he sat up straighter, crushing his pillow against the wall. If Isaac was calling him, it had to be an emergency! He felt his eyes burn red, then saw Isaac’s flash yellow in response. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?”

Even as he tried to anticipate what problem could prompt Isaac to call, he felt a thrill that Isaac had called. He’d called _Scott_. Seeing and hearing from Isaac after so long ignited the delight of catching up with a long lost friend — which was strange. Because, while he and Isaac hadn’t separated on bad terms, per se, they’d both been suffering under the weight of Allison’s death. She’d been dating Isaac at the time, eking out what bit of happiness she could after all her family put her through, and then she’d died in Scott’s arms. A part of Scott always suspected that Isaac blamed him for that. Scott certainly blamed himself. Allison only died because she’d joined Scott’s fight.

One side of Isaac’s mouth pulled up in a wry smile. His hair was grown longer than when Scott last saw him, loosening his curls, and his face had filled out. He looked healthy. He looked _good_. Isaac also looked cautiously happy to see Scott. “Never better. Listen, Argent told me to give you a call. I … didn’t know if … is now a good time?”

A glance at his clock showed that it was closer to nine than to the five his body was trying to insist it was. He’d slept in, a habit he couldn’t afford to fall into since he had eight am class every day once they started. For the rest of this week, though, none of the optional-but-highly-recommended welcome sessions the school offered started until ten. “Yeah. I was sleeping.”

“Should I call back?”

The hesitation in Isaac’s voice was so strong that Scott suspected that if they disconnected now, he’d never hear from Isaac again. Scott couldn’t allow that. If Isaac had called — if Argent had _ordered_ Isaac to call — there was a good reason. “No, no. I needed to be up anyway.” It was true enough that his heart wouldn’t give away a lie. “Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Paris, still.” Isaac glanced at something off screen, then heaved a sigh. “In an institution.”

Scott tipped his head, parsing the confession. That night when Isaac showed up at Scott’s in the rainstorm, clothes soaking, and asked to stay, he’d sounded scared. Shame rolled off him along with the petrichor, and Scott’s heart had clenched in awareness of what it cost Isaac to let himself be so vulnerable. In no world could he have rejected Issac’s request and slept soundly afterward. No scent filtered through the video feed now, so all Scott had to judge was tone, and Scott heard no shame, no fear. Isaac’s tone seemed only resigned.

“Like a mental institution?”

Outside of Eichen House, Scott didn’t know that mental institutions still existed. He supposed they had to; people needed psychiatric care as well as physical care, and Isaac suffered from so much trauma. His body might heal from most any physical injury in seconds, but no werewolf powers could heal the mind.

“Yeah, exactly like one,” Isaac confirmed. He kept his gaze aimed steady at the camera. The flickering of his eyelashes cast fine shadows across the tops of his cheeks. “Is that … a problem?”

“No, why would it be?” Scott fought to keep his words from tripping over each other. “It’s just that … we didn’t know. All anyone’s said is that you were in France, which for all we knew was a lie or an euphemism…”

“An euphemism?” Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that being French means the same thing as being crazy?”

Scott chuckled. He couldn’t not chuckle. “I’m not. Are you?”

"Wouldn't dare ... though some parts are a little questionable." Isaac continued on to comment on the weirdness of the food and how slow he’d been to notice that pronunciations that earned him an A in high school French only earned him entireties to speak English among the populace, and Scott studied him. He searched for bruises, new scars, a trembling lip — any hint that Isaac called for rescue.

Because Scott couldn’t rule out the possibility of Isaac landing in the French version of Eichen House. To hide a shudder, he yanked his pillow out of the crack between the mattress and wall and shoved it back into position. As much as he didn’t want to cash in his tuition money to buy a plane ticket to France, he would if he had to. Of course he would, no questions asked. Well, no questions beyond the logistical ones of where to go once his plane landed, because France _was_ a big place. And, yet, though each of them had seen the worst parts of the other, had suffered through the worst with the other, if Isaac needed rescuing, Scott would go.

“…Argent knew a place and pulled a few strings to get me in. After everything that happened, he thought I needed some time to get my head on straight — you know, away from Beacon Hills and all the memories there.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t think so,” Isaac admitted. “Looking back … yeah, yeah I did.”

“Then I’m happy you were able to get the help you needed,” Scott commented. He didn’t know what else to say, so he stopped talking. Besides the name of the country, all Argent had ever supplied about where he’d taken Isaac after the defeat of the Oni was a clipped, “Someplace he can heal.” They hadn’t heard from Isaac since. At some level, Scott had suspected that Isaac had decided to cut Scott out of _his_ life.

“The thing is, they’re releasing me. I guess you can say I’ve graduated. Or that I’m as fixed up as they think they can make me?”

“That’s good, right?”

The phone wobbled as Isaac lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Sure. Only, I don’t really have any place to go.” He swallowed hard, stuck on words that were difficult to say. “I wondered … maybe your mom would let me move back in.” Gulping a breath, he rushed on. “I have money; I can pay rent. And I only need it for a few weeks, just while I get—”

“I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Of this, Scott had no doubt. Melissa’d welcomed Isaac into her home once already, and would have adopted him if she’d had the resources. Isaac didn’t need formal adopting now, but the room he’d used was still fixed up for guests. And as much as she needed the money, that’s what Isaac would be: a guest.

So, why did the offer make his stomach churn?

“Yeah?” Isaac sounded carefully hopeful. Only the way his teeth pressed into his lip gave away his fear of rejection. Despite being limited to what he could perceive through a video connection, Isaac must’ve picked up something from Scott that cast doubt on his welcome. “Scott, you know I wouldn’t ask if …” He swallowed hard. “Well, this is plan B. I’m sorry to put this on you at the last minute.”

Scott willed his pulse to slow and for the hand that wasn’t holding the phone to unclench. Any issue here shouldn’t be put on Isaac to deal with, especially since Scott didn’t know what it was. “When, uh … When do you need to know? She won’t be home from work until later tonight; I can call her then.”

“How ‘bout I call you again tomorrow? This isn’t my phone; I’ve been holding off on getting one until I’m back Stateside.”

They agreed on a time, and Scott promptly put both a reminder on his calendar and set an alarm so that he could be awake and dressed the next time he spoke to Isaac.

Later, he stood in the shower with hot water pelting his head and pooling on the tile around his feet. Humidity thickened the air, dulling the thuds and thumps of other boys using the communal facility to an ambiance not unlike the locker room after lacrosse and cross country practices. Scott felt himself start to relax in the familiarity, lowering defenses he hadn’t noticed he’d built.

In the echoes off the tiled walls and the steaming haze of a half-dozen showers going at once, he had a moment of clarity.

His mom had been dropping hints for awhile about Argent moving in, and now Isaac might be too. Scott had gone off to college, and now a whole new family was forming amongst the people he’d left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Get-to-know yous, and ice-breakers, and official welcomes filled Scott’s afternoon. More people attended UC-Davis than lived in the entirety of Beacon Hills, by several thousand. Scott had known this when he applied, and he boggled anew at it each time an email from the school arrived and he caught himself wondering at how strange it would be if everyone in his _town_ all received the same email at the same time. Not only were more people on campus, the school grounds were much smaller than the town, which only emphasized the population difference.

Tens of thousands of people swarming across the lawns and on the sidewalks, converging in the common rooms and the public spaces — and every single one smelled human.

 _Not anyone?!_ Stiles texted back. _Are you sure?_

 _No one yet,_ Scott responded. He didn’t know what emoji best captured the face he felt himself making, so he left the message unadorned. While it was true that Beacon Hills had the Nemeton, which drew the supernatural toward the area, the people had to be coming _from_ somewhere, which implied that there were other were-beings, banshees, Kitsune, and Hell Hounds he didn’t already know about in the world. Just not, apparently, at UC-Davis.

 _You haven’t met everyone yet,_ Lydia chided him. _Statistically speaking, even if you met 1000 new people a day, it would still take more than a month for you to meet everyone on campus. Give it time._

Scott sighed to himself. He understood the math. And he recognized that—no matter how much he felt like it—he hadn’t met anywhere close to 1000 people that day. And yet…

Caution fueled part of his interest -- stopping threats was a lot easier when they weren't a surprise -- but he also fully understood how much he owed to his friends and allies. For all of them, survival and success had been a group effort. A _pack_ effort. And UC-Davis didn't offer any kind of equivalent support for Supernatural Creatures like what he could find when he joined the Center for Chicanx & Latinx Academic Student Success. To have anything like that here, he would have to seek out those relationships himself.

By the time he returned to his room, his head ached from the strain of trying to sift through and process the plethora of smells the campus inundated him with. All he wanted to do was sit and rest for a few minutes before he ventured back out to the cafeteria to check out the dinner options. As much as he wasn’t in the mood to eat, his stomach still demanded food, and he had promised his mother that he’d take care of himself.

He’d barely pulled his temporary keycard from his pocket when his Resident Assistant’s door flew open. Greg was a tall black man who wore his hair in a poofed out Afro that added at least a foot to his height. He was a sophomore, he’d told them, majoring in sports physical therapy, and he had a tattoo of a soccer ball flying into a goal on his calf. Interesting fact: It was a reminder of the last goal he scored before he blew out his knee, ended his soccer career, and discovered his love for sports therapy.

“Hey! It’s Scott, right?” Greg asked. He had on board shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and the kind of neutral expression that one had to do consciously.

Scott tensed. “Yeah?”

“Listen, I know we’re all getting settled in and there’s a lot of new information to keep up with.” Greg grimaced, then glanced up and down the hallway, as if searching for backup. A few of the boys’ doors stood open; most of them weren’t. Scott heard only silence from behind most of the closed rooms, with the exception of one where its occupant snored softly. Pretty much everyone had gone to dinner already. The few boys who were in their rooms stayed there. If any of them knew what was going on in the hall, they gave no sign.

Nodding in polite agreement, Scott waited. He’d read the rules, and Greg was right: there were a lot of them, but he hadn’t been moved in long enough to start breaking them. No loud music. No overnight guests. No hot plates. No candles. And pranks and practical jokes were Stiles’s specialty, not his.

“So, the thing is—” Greg stopped, licked his lips, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts and stood up to a full height that gave him several inches on Scott. “The thing is, I got a report of alcohol in your room. And, look, we all know that college kids are gonna party, but keeping alcohol in your room is a strict violation of the Housing Policy and getting caught can be cause for expulsion.”

Scott’s eyes widened and he glanced toward the door to his room as if it would somehow vouch for his innocence. A second later, he caught a whiff of stale beer from his room and remembered the cans Aaron had left scattered on his bed. Those were empty, though their existence would probably count the same as full ones. Maybe worse, because that would be evidence of underage consumption. And there was no telling how much more Aaron had stashed away.

The better question was: Who made the report? Unless one of Aaron’s friends had ratted him out, the only way anyone could have known about the beer was if they’d been _in_ the room—and Scott sure hadn’t brought in any visitors. He’d have to know people to do that.

“OK?” Scott prompted. Greg hadn’t called the cops, so unless the Resident Assistant had some kind of punishment authority, this couldn’t get worse than a warning—Scott hoped. He had no idea how he’d explain to his mother that he’d been expelled because of a housing code violation. Especially because of alcohol.

Greg’s heart was pounding, the thumps a counterpoint to the reek of anxiety that now surrounded him. “Just … be careful,” he said. “The University takes these reports very seriously.” He started to back away, his hands still firmly planted in his pockets, and his gaze fixed on Scott like he was afraid to turn his back. 

Head tilted, Scott watched as Greg retreated down the hallway. Thanks to Monroe’s efforts to start a war, he knew too well how someone acted who was afraid of him. And this was close — very close — yet … not. “Sure.” Scott angled himself in front of his door so that Greg wouldn’t be able to easily see in when it opened. “Thanks.” He waited until Greg was almost back to his own room before swiping the card and letting himself into his room through the smallest opening he could squeeze his body through. Aaron was still gone, and there was no indication that he’d been back. Beer cans still adorned his bed, the sheets looked rumpled the same as when Scott left that morning, and the pile of books he’d dumped onto the floor hadn’t been straightened.

Scott inhaled deeply, searching for a tell-tale hint of someone who’d been here unauthorized — and started coughing. Through the still-open window came the sweet stink of weed, its scent overpowering all others. Though his asthma had been cured when he got the Bite, he still didn’t like the sticky smell of marijuana and the way it clung to everything. Now, right after getting a thinly veiled warning about the beer in his room that weren’t even his, the knowledge that other students were merrily toking up without any concern about being expelled felt like a deliberate insult.

Hurriedly, he shut the window and swept the beer cans into an empty plastic grocery store bag, probably the same one they’d come into the room in. This roommates thing was off to a terrible start. If he and Aaron were going to have any chance, Scott needed to set some boundaries. Decision made, he nodded to himself. He was going to get dinner now, and when he got back, he was going to do a thorough search of the room for any other contraband that Aaron may have sneaked in. Scott had worked too hard to get here, and if he was going to get kicked out, it would be for a damned better reason than violating his housing contract. 

Like monsters. 

At least his mother would understand monsters.

~~~

The call came through at exactly Isaac’s indicated time, and Scott still had to scramble across the room to accept it. Greg had called an emergency meeting of the floor to remind all the boys that he was their Resident Assistant, not their parent. The admonitions took longer, as did the walk through of the housing contract. 

The only thing Scott learned from it was that he should never again go to another of Greg’s “short meetings” without his phone, and possibly a wilderness survival bag.

“Hey,” he said, breathless, before the video finished resolving. “I’m here.”

“Scott,” Isaac responded. Something in his tone hinted that he hadn’t expected Scott to answer at all and Scott’s insides twisted at the realization that, despite years of therapy, Isaac still expected people to let him down. The video finally came through, pixelated and stuttering from a bad connection.

“Are you there? Can you hear me okay?” Scott settled back onto his bed, shoving his pillow behind him for whatever meager support it could provide.This way he could prop his phone on his knees, a far more comfortable way to hold it for an extended period than he could manage at his desk. He’d wanted to bring his green arm chair from his room at home, both to have the additional seating and for its personal touch, only there hadn’t been enough space in the tiny dorm room. He’d ruefully packed it back into Argent’s SUV and let his mom take it home. Now he started to wonder if that had been some kind of sign. “Where are you? Do you need to call back later?”

Isaac’s image froze, glitched, then cleared long enough for Isaac’s laugh to come through. The sound popped from Scott’s speakers, and spread to fill the empty spaces of the room, clear and out of proportion to the garbled voice that followed. “Gotta … this short … OK? … Mom?”

“What?”

A couple minutes followed as Isaac moved around, only the changes of lighting levels behind him indicating that he’d been in a room, had probably passed through a larger room with more natural light, and was now outside. Scott pressed his lips together, fighting his impatience. He knew full well that phone connections didn’t respond to begging or chiding — and he still couldn’t be the one who disconnected the call first. He pressed his feet harder into the mattress to keep his knees from juddering and putting an extra burden on the already strained signal.

At last the video stabilized, revealing Isaac to be seated with his back to a yard with a deep swath of green grass spreading into the distance to a tree line that only partially concealed a tall fence. A pair of wire-frame glasses were perched on his head, denting his curls and reflecting bits of light into the phone as Isaac moved around. The boys confirmed the improvement to their connection, then Isaac grew somber. “Did you talk to your mom?”

Scott shook his head. “Couldn’t. She had to work a double last night—”

“What’s happening? Is it the Hunters?” Isaac’s eyes widened and he pulled the phone closer to his face as if the shortened distance would prevent his voice from carrying. For a second, Isaac’s lips dominated the screen and Scott’s chest tightened. “Is Beacon under attack again?”

As much as Scott wanted to find humor in Isaac’s rush to assume the worst, he couldn’t. The town — and consequently the hospital his mom worked at — had suffered from so many different assaults over the last few years that another was probably inevitable — which caused a new worry to bubble up. Davis was hundreds of miles from home. How could he keep everyone there safe when he lived so far away? 

Scott forced that worry to the back of his mind, to be dealt with in the privacy of his own room. He wasn’t going to worry, and he wasn’t going to let Isaac worry. “No, no, no.” He waved a hand to cut Isaac off before Isaac grew upset enough to shift. Murmuring voices in the background indicated the presence of other people near him, and Scott doubted that Isaac would have revealed to them all what he was. Werewolves kept their existence a secret for all kinds of good reasons, many of which Monroe’s army only reinforced. “It was just a double. Completely ordinary. Those happen a lot more than ones because of … you know,” he said, as much to reassure himself as Isaac. “One of the other nurses had a sick kid or something, and you know how my mom is. She told me she wouldn’t get home until, like, five in the morning, and her texts were short so she must’ve been pretty busy.”

Isaac relaxed, shoulders curling back into their usual slump. “Yeah, cool.” He glanced down, his brow briefly wrinkling into a frown. “That’s good. You don’t need to. Talk to her about me, that is. I kinda got good news. Plan A came through.”

“You do? That’s great! What is it?”

The corner of Isaac’s mouth quirked toward a smile. “Later,” he promised. “I gotta few things to iron out first. It’s … not a thing I ever imagined getting to be able to do. Not really. I’ll fill you in when it’s a done deal.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help…” Scott offered, not needing to finish the sentence. Isaac already knew he could call on Scott, and by answering, Scott had proven he’d be there when Isaac did. It was the groundwork necessary to patch up the rift that Allison’s death had ripped between them. The moment grew heavier than Scott could bear under the weight of neither of them quite knowing how to say goodbye, so Scott reached for a lighter topic. “Hey, when did you get glasses?”

Isaac’s head tilted in confusion, then he slowly reached up and touched the glasses. “Oh, these. Yeah, they’re not real. Or, they _are_ real; there’s real glass in the lenses. Or plastic, I guess. I don’t really know what they’re made of.” He stopped and huffed out a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium at having grown flustered over a fashion choice, if not a necessary corrective one. “I gotta get my picture taken. For the hospital records, you know? Before and After. The glasses change the light, or something. I discovered it by accident.”

Scott nodded slowly, working through what Isaac was suggesting. “Refraction,” he supplied. The glasses would be just enough to change the light from the camera’s flash before it reflected back from their eyes and created any hard-to-explain flares in the image. “That’s a good idea. I should do that too.” He’d been putting off getting his official school photo taken for his ID, one of the many tasks he needed to complete before classes began. He’d been paying out-of-pocket at the cafeteria and using a temporary key card to access the residence hall and his room because of his concern about getting his picture taken. To think that all he needed to solve the problem was a $10 pair of reading glasses from the pharmacy up the street.

“Sounds hot,” Isaac commented, deadpan.

Scott’s eyes widened and he forced himself to focus on the poster Aaron had mounted on the wall over his bed: a compilation of figures celebrating the college life with the caption “College! A Four-Year Party With a $100,000 Cover Charge!” If anything would work to counteract the rise to Scott’s heart rate, it was that poster. “Well, it is August in California,” he managed.

“At least it’s Northern California.” Isaac licked his lips, but happily didn’t correct Scott’s deliberate misunderstanding. “So, how’s the college life? Meeting lots of hot girls?”

And that created an opening for Scott to explain how he hadn’t met anyone at all.

~~~

A campus with a greater population than Beacon Hills also, it turned out, covered more square footage than Beacon Hills. 

After leaving the pharmacy, Scott began searching for the Administrative building where they took the pictures for the IDs. The school had provided him with a physical map, though he hadn’t thought he’d need to bring it along; he’d always had a good sense of direction, which becoming a werewolf had only enhanced. The last time he could remember being truly lost, there’d been supernatural reasons that probably involved some bending of space and time.

While he couldn’t rule out nefarious forces, he suspected the bigger issue now was that _all the buildings looked the same_. Lots of industrial and cement designs, with splashes of color that would probably help differentiate them after he learned what the differences were. He’d only walked the paths through the campus once, months before, and he’d been so focused then on the trivia and history the tour guide had to share — and the fact that this was all real: Scott McCall, the college freshman — that he’d barely noticed his surroundings then. It had also been a day hazy with the threat of a storm.

Today, the sky brimmed with sunlight. It heated the pavement and glared back from all the metal, windows, and white concrete that adorned the structures. Scott wished he’d purchased a pair of sunglasses instead of readers he’d only use one time. He squinted from one building to another, searching for names that meant anything to him, or helpful signage, maybe an arrow or two.

Crowds of people filled the wide open swaths of land between the buildings, most moving in pairs or groups, their conversations a loose tapestry of noise over the subtler sounds of the breeze brushing through leaves and bees buzzing among the flowers and recycling bins. Bicyclists and skateboarders wove with abandon between the pockets of people, demanding the need for constant vigilance at the risk of getting crashed into. Everyone seemed to know where they were going — or seemed to not care if they were going anywhere at all. A sense of ease, of excitement flowed among the other students. New school year! Old friends that hadn’t yet been made! Potential! He recognized it, craved joining it, yet he couldn’t touch it.

Though the moon wasn’t visible yet, the first touches tingled Scott’s skin. Tonight, when it rose, the moon would be full. He’d long ago learned how to not transform at its peak, though nothing could prevent it from affecting him completely. A tension wound through his body like a rubber band being twisted tighter and tighter. It wasn’t pain yet, and wouldn’t be if he could keep his concentration, keep his heart rate under control. 

How could he be lost? He’d studied the map, committed it to memory. Or so he thought. He bit his lip, fingers clenching into the leg of his jean shorts. 

With a huff of frustration he stopped, a sudden dam to the flow of people on the path. Several of the closest people hissed swears as they veered around him and someone murmured a disparaging, “Freshman” under his breath. Scott’s pulse thrummed in his jaw, his breath coming quicker. Turning in a slow circle, he sought to find his bearings. The campus swirled past him as no more than meaningless streaks of light that lanced his eyes. He tried to focus, to fit the odd shape into any of the patterns he recalled from the map. Nothing worked. 

His chest tightened; Scott recognized the beginning stages of a panic attack. A person only needed to suffer one of those in his life to understand how they began. He hadn’t needed an inhaler in years, yet dug into his pocket now as if an inhaler might be tucked there for emergencies. All he found was a crumpled piece of paper he couldn’t identify and a couple coins. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead and traced a cold trail down the side of his face. As if this were his first full moon and he’d learned nothing about anchors, he felt his control begin to slip. The pressure in his jaw could only be fangs and the ache in his muscles could only be the start to a full shift. His ID photo would have to wait; he needed to get out of here. He didn’t belong here.

Scott bolted.

All the people who’d cursed him out for stopping now threw a new layer of swears at him as he dodged past them. The clusters of people ebbed and waned, opening and closing paths through the crowd. Scott twisted and turned like he was once against racing down the lacrosse field with opposing defenders swarming at him. On instinct, he ducked off the path and cut through one of the ample green spaces that dotted the campus, leaping over fellow students who’d stopped to eat or nap in the open air. The yells in his wake changed to ones of surprise and awe, though he barely noticed. What concentration he had he spent on staying upright, on not slipping into the four-limbed gait that would cover the ground even faster.

The campus blurred around him, and soon gave way to the city of Davis itself. Scott kept going, ignoring the cars and buses that now filled the streets. He didn’t know where he was going, except away. Train tracks appeared and he ducked onto them with no regard for where they were headed or if they were being used. He couldn’t run all the way to Beacon Hills, but he pressed on until his legs started to shake from exertion and he could no longer ignore the cramp in his side. Heaving for breath, he veered into the nearest green space and collapsed beneath a tree. His claws gouged the ground as he fought to suck in enough air to regain control. A dog barked. Another one let out a howl that invited Scott to howl back. He managed, barely, to resist.

“Hey,” someone said, “You OK? Are you on drugs? Are you hurt? Do I need to call 911?”

Scott shook his head, but didn’t look up to make eye contact. He didn’t trust what color eyes the speaker might see. “’M fine,” he managed. The other person couldn’t hear his heartbeat, so it didn’t matter if he lied. “Just winded.”

“OK.” The speaker sounded dubious. And wary. Good thing the guy would never know how smart he was to keep a cautious distance, Scott thought. The speaker paused for a moment while the dog at his side strained to get closer to Scott, its own instincts compelling it to join with the Alpha. At last the speaker gave the leash a tug and ordered the dog to heel. “Well, OK. Um. Take care?”

Scott didn’t try to answer. As much as he appreciated the fact that anyone had bothered to check on him, it was safer for both of them if he didn’t encourage more.

He hunkered closer to the tree, seeking what cover he could find it in, and curled in on himself.

“Scott?” he heard. 

Frowning, he lifted his gaze slowly to peer around the park. In the distance, he spotted the person he thought had tried to help him, given away by the frequent side-glances he cast Scott’s direction while he waited for his dog to finish squatting. A few other people-and-their-dogs wandered the edges of the park. None of them seemed to be speaking to him. How would they even know his name?

“Hello? Hello? You there?”

For a second, the muffled quality of the call struck Scott as coming from the tree behind him. Then he figured it out. With fingers still tipped in claws, he pulled his phone free to find a call in progress. No video, voice only. “Isaac?”

“Scott?”

A rhythmic rumbling filled the background. It didn’t sound like static, yet had the same effect of taking the edges off Isaac’s response. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

“Two calls in one day?” Scott asked. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know; you tell me. You called this time.”

“I did?” Scott glanced at his phone as if the dark screen had any answers on display. The touch screen was so sensitive to warmth. During his run, he must have bumped it just the right way to activate the video chat app, and then it redialed the last person he’d spoken to.

Isaac chuckled as he reached the same conclusion. “Butt dial, huh? Damn that ass.”

Scott’s breath escaped him. How many times had Isaac made a quip or muttered a comment that _could_ have been an come-on, only without any kind of wink-and-nudge to punctuate it. Since Isaac never showed any awareness of how his comments could be taken, Scott had chosen to believe he was hearing unintended layers, but now he had to wonder, because Isaac _kept_ dropping those sly comments into their conversations. “Sorry,” he said, his skin warming as he tried to backpedal into safer territory. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important. I’ll let you go back to whatever you were doing now.” He moved to disconnect the call once Isaac confirmed that he could, only Isaac didn’t.

“Your voice … is it because of what tonight is?”

The circumlocution could only be because Isaac was again someplace where people could overhear him. Scott sighed, lowering his head to his bent knees. His voice deepened and picked up darker overtones when he shifted, a quality he still couldn’t get rid of now. “Yeah. It’s— First week of school, you know? Like I said earlier. New city, new roommate, new rules. I don’t know where anything is; I’ve already gotten on my RA’s bad side; I’m pretty sure my roommate is an addict. It’s a lot to adjust to.” He rolled his lips together, then sighed. After everything else he’d told Isaac, he had no reason to hold back the rest. “And I keep thinking about my mom and what she’s going to do the next time something evil attacks Beacon Hills. I won’t be there to stop it.” He pressed the phone a little tighter to his ear, as if that could get him closer to his confidant. “I don’t think I can do this.” As often as the thought had crossed his mind, hearing the expression of defeat out loud made it real. 

He imagined Isaac rolling his eyes. Scott had never been the type to give up. How many times had Scott urged the others to keep fighting, even when everyone was convinced they couldn’t win? How many times had Scott stood by others through their personal battles? Isaac had seen Scott at his lowest, and knew full well what it took to get Scott there. A rough few days away from home shouldn’t be it. Through the phone, he heard a tone and then a flurry of French, in what sounded like an announcement, then Isaac cleared his throat. “I gotta go in a minute. So, I’ll make this quick. You want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“OK, but remember that I asked first.” He allowed Scott a second to level an objection, then forged ahead. His words tumbled together as he ran out of time to talk. “Embrace it. You’re feeling out of control, so let yourself go out of control. Just for tonight. Be what you are.”

Spoken like someone who’d spent years in therapy, Scott thought. And it wasn’t bad advice, either. He spent so much effort trying to keep his life ordered, his heartbeat calm, his anger under control. Davis had a lot of farmland surrounding it — the university mascot wasn’t the Aggies for nothing — which meant lots of unpopulated areas and, perhaps more importantly, land outside of any kind of electronic surveillance. He couldn’t get drunk or high, like everyone else on campus seemed to be doing. Instead, he had a whole other way of letting himself loose, and the light of the full moon would be the release bar on that cage. 

On the other hand, he hadn’t allowed the full moon to change him since he’d gained the ability to choose. It was different than transforming any other time. _More_. Easier to lose himself. Like the difference between jumping into a pool and being submerged in an ocean’s wave. The risk always existed that he could hurt or kill someone. Or that he’d be hurt or killed if the wrong people found him while he ran free. “I’ll think about it,” he responded.

“Cool. Gotta go now. See you later.”

Before Scott could respond, the call disconnected. He absently turned the phone over and over in his hands while he considered Isaac’s advice. Only on the fourth pass did he notice the blunt ends of his normal human fingernails. A quick touch verified the smooth skin on his cheeks and the rounded tips of his ears. While talking to Isaac, he’d shifted back. 

Now that he could safely do so, he levered himself to his feet and took in the expanse of grass and the smattering of trees and bushes that surrounded him. A distant dog let loose a volley of barks, and dozens of birds lifted out of the trees and swooped away in a loose swirl against the bright blue sky. Scott sighed. Of all places, he’d run himself to a dog park. 

He couldn’t tell anyone about this, or he’d _never_ hear the end of it.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Scott made his way back to campus. Not a walk of shame, but only because he felt no shame. Superficially, it was alike enough to one that he caught several people nodding knowingly to themselves as he passed. He wondered what they thought had happened to him. Dirt stained his jeans and skin; his t-shirt was torn to shreds. There were probably streaks of blood on him, too, though the commensurate wounds would have long since healed. If he’d seen someone that disheveled trudging down the street, he’d probably call the cops.

Staying out all night had left him tired, dragging his steps, yet the jagged helplessness from the day before was gone. He felt centered and focused, able to assess his place in the bigger picture and see that the world wasn’t crumbling around him. He’d left Beacon Hills, yes, but he hadn’t left it unprotected. Liam still lived there, and the network of allies he’d cultivated could handle any serious problems. As for Aaron: he’d figure something out. Lots of people suffered from bad roommates, and the orientation presenters made it clear that lots of seemingly bad roommates turned out to be pretty good people if you just gave them the chance.

Meanwhile, whatever the school threw at him, he could handle that too—even if it did involve another ice breaker with people who’d forget what he said the moment he stopped talking. He brushed a hank of leaf-strewn hair from his face and started the climb up to his residence hall floor. All his thoughts focused on the promise of a shower and a change of clothes. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the reading glasses. At least he’d kept his wallet and phone; those would’ve been a lot harder to replace.

He keyed open his dorm room door to find that Aaron had returned before his promised time. Aaron was, in fact, curled up in bed, with his arm thrown over the back of a brown-haired girl who lay face down on the pillow. Their naked shoulders and feet stuck out from the lone sheet that twisted around them. Beer cans and wrappers from snack-sized chips covered the floor next to the bed, and the funk of sex hung heavy in the air.

Aaron’s head popped up as the door clicked shut, and then he scuttled upright, dragging the sheet with him. “Dude, sock on the door! Sock on the door!” 

The girl stirred long enough to tug a strip of sheet back over her butt and to let out an annoyed, “Shhhhh.”

Blinking, Scott started to turn to check the sock claim, then swung back to his main task. If there had been a sock on the door, he hadn’t seen it, and he didn’t care. This was his room too, and if Aaron planned on using it with his girlfriend, he could at least be courteous enough to give Scott warning _before_ it became necessary to look for hosiery on the door handle. Besides, he only intended to grab his shower caddy and some clothes; his roommate and his, presumably, girlfriend, could get themselves presentable if they wanted to while Scott finished making himself look human. “Thought you weren’t coming back until Sunday,” he said, instead. A note of accusation laced his voice. “Today is not Sunday.”

“Kayla’s roommate got back early. Fight with her parents, or something. Ohhhh.” Aaron clutched his head, the groan lengthening. “Sat up too fast.”

The shower caddy was under the bed, where Scott had left it. His clothes should have been stored in the closet, folded and put away. Instead they lay crumpled and strewn across the floor like they’d been pawed through. His paws hadn’t been anywhere near the room, which left only one conclusion: “Were you going through my things?” No sooner had he asked, then among the detritus of a debauched night, he spotted a familiar looking set of leather cuffs. While he didn’t need to be restrained during his own transformations anymore—as he’d proven the previous night when he gave into the lure of the full moon and did nothing more gruesome than kill and eat a squirrel, albeit without cooking it first, since there still wasn’t such a thing as little werewolf ovens—he’d brought them, along with a few other essential supplies, along to college just in case. Grabbing the cuffs, he thrust them accusingly into Aaron’s face. “You _were_ going through my things! What the hell!?”

Aaron flinched back, both hands now gripping his head. “Bruh, we’re roommates! And it wasn’t like you were _here_. Where were you anyway?” He started to droop forward; only the tension of the sheet wrapped around him, and pulled tightly around Kayla, kept him from tumbling to the floor. “Think I’m gonna be sick.

“We’re roommates,” Scott echoed. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together. “You think that gives you the right to go through my things? We barely know each other.”

Aaron sucked a few gulps of air down before managing to respond, “We’re like brothers.”

Of all the things Aaron could have said: that phrase, so much like the one Derek had used when he made his first feeble effort to explain to werewolves to Scott, and the phrase Scott repeated to Liam when Scott made his first effort. Those relationships had eventually developed to a type of brotherhood, if an only child like Scott could judge such a relationship. What he and Aaron had could barely be called roommates except in a technical sense, and it certainly couldn’t be called brother-like. With his latest stunt, Aaron had guaranteed that no pack would be forming between the two of them. Aaron was only lucky that this hadn’t happened yesterday, or Scott might not have been able to resist the urge to treat him to some less-than-brotherly battery. 

It was too soon after the full moon to deal with this, his violent urges too volatile. Scott forced out a deep breath, fighting to keep his anger from rising and his heartbeat from speeding up. “We’re not brothers. We’re never going to be _brothers_. Interesting fact: You don’t know anything about me.” Aaron smirked at that, though his face had an ashen cast that undermined the smugness. “They’re my things,” Scott continued. “and you had no right to touch any of them.” Hearing the ominous overtones that colored his tone, he pitched the cuffs under his bed to be dealt with later, grabbed some random clothes, and hurried to the shower before the appearance of claws and fangs pushed Aaron’s fortitude any further.

~~~

Scott took his time in the shower room. He washed his body thoroughly, scrubbing away the dirt and blood of his full moon trophies. He brushed both sets of teeth, then wondered if he should try to summon up the more monstrous fangs and brush them too. Could a werewolf even get cavities? No one had said one way or another about that, and three years in, his regular teeth showed no signs of decay. With the taste of the squirrel now replaced with mint, he decided the extra step went a step too far. Besides, as comfortable as he’d become with being a werewolf, he had no desire to explore how far he could transform. A shudder ran through him at the thought of the hulking, hirsute beast that had attacked him in the woods all those years ago. As an Alpha he should be able to attain that now, yet he never wanted to become _that_ kind of Alpha — the kind that Peter was to him.

For now, he had only to finish cleaning up. The ruined clothes he buried deep in the garbage can, with no little regret. No amount of sewing skill could save them, and he’d considered the shirt a favorite. With as much clothing as he’d lost over the years, he still hadn’t been able to stop getting attached to items. Little things like that were what kept him grounded.

He arrived back at his room to find the door open and Greg standing just inside, muscled arms crossed. In pressed khakis and a white polo with the school initials stitched on the front pocket, he radiated “official business,” which he confirmed when he gestured with his head for Scott to enter the room. His expression was neutral, yet his heart thudded with anxiety. “One week,” he stated. “Neither of you could even make it one week.” He shook his head. “Look, I don’t wanna be the bad guy here, so I’m just gonna point out that you both signed an agreement to follow the terms of the housing code when you enrolled. I thought this gig was gonna be easy, and you two are _not_ making my life easy.”

Scott took in the room, noting as he did that Kayla was gone. She either had the good timing to leave before Greg arrived, or he had kicked her out when he did. Scott almost wished he had been listening to hear that conversation go down.

At least Aaron now had clothes on, if a pair of paisley boxers and a white, pit-stained undershirt really constituted being dressed.

The latest batch of empty beer cans were still piled on the floor in plain sight. The bed sheets were shoved into a lump up against the wall, with a bright pink bra right on top. Every indication of a broken rule was clearly on Aaron’s side of the room. Scott tucked his shower caddy away, blocking the leather cuffs, then straightened up to his full height.

“I wasn’t here last night,” he informed Greg. While he wasn’t inclined to throw Aaron under the bus — he’d much prefer Aaron throw himself under the bus — this was the second time Greg had grouped Scott in on allegations he had no part in, and Scott wasn’t going to take the blame for Aaron’s issues either.

“Where—” Greg started.

The double buzz of an incoming text interrupted him. Greg bit his next word off before he could form it; his eyes widened and his heart thudded, like he was now the one who’d been caught breaking rules. With deliberate motions, Scott pulled out his phone and checked the message. He’d learned the hard way not to ignore texts from Argent, even if they’d recently been more along the lines of “what time will you be home from work?” and less “do you need weapons or reinforcements?” Scott read the current text and frowned, trying to work out which category it belonged in: “Got a call. Someone needs to see you at the Registrar’s ASAP.” 

“I-I have to go,” Scott said. “There’s a … a problem. I think.” He flashed the phone toward Greg, as if to prove he wasn’t lying, then remembered that he didn’t need Greg’s permission to go anywhere. He also still didn’t know his way around campus. “Where’s the Registrar’s office?” he asked, then, “What’s the Registrar’s office?”

“They’re the department that handles your enrollment in school, like dealing with schedules and stuff,” Greg explained, which only amped up Scott’s worry. Greg, on to the other hand, sounded relieved — maybe because this problem he knew the answer to.

“There’s a _department_ for that?!” Scott had done all his early registration during a special summer meeting for incoming freshman, and it had never occurred to him to wonder what everyone else did. “Classes start in, like, four days! What kind of problems could crop up now?” A hundred scenarios bounced into his head at once: rescinded student loans, canceled classes, the university deciding they’d admitted the wrong Scott McCall. He bounced once on the balls of his feet, glancing again at his phone in case Argent had sent any follow up messages. “How do I get there?”

Greg quickly outlined how to find the building, and where in the building to find the relevant office, and Scott took off.

From behind him, he heard Aaron challenge his departure with a snide, “So you’re just gonna let him leave?”

“He’s not the one who’s been drinking underage,” Greg answered.

“How do you know? Did you see him when he came in? He had _leaves_ in his hair, and I swear there was blood on his face …”

Scott tuned out the rest; under the threat of an issue with his enrollment, he had more important things to worry about. He managed to keep his pace to a fast walk, mostly out of concern of arriving at the office breathless and sweaty, yet still found the building faster than expected. Frequent and easily visible signs that he’d utterly failed to see the day before pointed the way, and he entered the office with a list of questions already planned in his mind.

A handful of other students stood in line in front of him, shuffling their feet or playing on their phones, their boredom palpable. Easy listening music played from an overhead speaker, against which clashed the fainter mixed strains of hard rock, rap, bubblegum pop, and one conspiracy theory podcast from the assorted earbuds in the room. Scott was used to living with this kind of background mash-up — the downside of enhanced hearing — yet still often had to take a moment to process and catalog the variety before he could dismiss it. In that adjustment period, he almost missed that someone called his name.

“Scott?”

His gaze swept the room, starting with the employees sitting behind the counter — all of whom appeared to be deep into interactions with other students. None of the other line-standers looked at him, or even seemed to notice him. Then he spotted the row of chairs against the far wall, and the occupant of one particular chair. He beelined for it.

“Isaac?”

One of Isaac’s eyebrows quirked upward, the pause between delivering a punchline and waiting for the listener to get the joke. He rose to his feet, long limbs stretching and eclipsing everything else in the room. Despite the heat, he had on jeans and a button-down shirt. Blue, like his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Scott continued. Despite their history, he grabbed Isaac and pulled him into a back-slapping hug. Time did have a way of erasing hurts, and, in this moment, Scott had never been happier to see someone he knew from Beacon Hills. “How did you get here? Is anyone else with you?”

Isaac tipped his head back and let out a laugh that silenced all the talking in the room for a moment. “Just me,” he answered. “Turns out that getting an Uber from the airport on this side of the pond isn’t that different from getting one on the other.” He steepled his fingers in front of his lips, then added, “So, interesting fact: Would you believe I’m waiting for them to finish printing my Aggie card?”

Scott blinked, then blinked again. “Your …? Did you say your Aggie card?”

Isaac grinned, smug and satisfied at surprising Scott. “There was a little trouble with the university understanding my French transcripts, and then some other issues because I haven’t had a US address for over a year.” With a shrug, Isaac dismissed all those problems. “It’s official, though I still got a few things to finalize. A lot of the classes I wanted to take were full, and I don’t know if there’ll be space for me in the dorms—”

“You’re a student here? You’re enrolled _here_?!”

“Pretty sure that’s what I said,” Isaac answered. Another grin overtook his face. He’d always been dismissive of college, usually insisting that school wasn’t his thing. He’d been wrong, of course. His issue was his abusive father, not his lack of intelligence or his desire for an education. It looked like all that therapy had helped him see the truth of that, too.

Scott couldn’t resist. He pulled Isaac into another hug, this one longer. Their arms wrapped around each other, the heat of their bodies blending together, and Isaac’s head tipped down to rest briefly on Scott’s. “Congratulations, man! I can’t believe it.” For a second, just a second, he wanted only to punctuate his acclaim with a kiss. Instead, he stepped back, ignoring the pink that flared high in Isaac’s cheeks. Then he remembered the message from Argent. “Looks like I have some things to sort out with the school too.”

The pink spread, and Isaac hunched his shoulders like he was trying to escape into himself. “Yeah, I don’t think you do.The school didn’t tell Argent to contact you; I did.”

The exact wording of the text flashed through Scott’s mind, and he pulled out his phone to verify it. Argent and Isaac planned this, and kept it secret. As the depth of the collusion sunk in, Scott’s appreciation for it grew. “You got me,” he said. “You really got me.”

Isaac’s gaze cut away and his hands buried themselves deep in his pockets. “That was the plan.” 

Once again, Scott had the sense that Isaac’s words had a double meaning. Maybe, now that they were going to be on the same campus again, it was time to start finding out. “In that case, I’d better get my own Aggie card while I’m here. Any chance I could borrow your glasses for it? I kinda lost mine last night.”

“What’s mine is yours.” Isaac slipped the glasses out of his breast pocket and held them out, a token toward a larger offer.

Scott pushed out a breath, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Isaac was here: a friend, a member of his pack, and, if Scott was reading the hints right, maybe something more. He couldn’t wait to tell the others. “Thanks. And, uh, there’s a pretty good chance that a spot in the dorms is about to open up. You wouldn’t want to be my roommate — again — would you?”

In answer, Isaac clapped Scott’s shoulder. “I sure didn't come all this way for the teachers.”


End file.
